These Secrets You Never Told
by Lua under water
Summary: KelNeal, told from Yuki's POV. She has always known some of these things... although he has never told her. Years into his marriage to Yuki, Neal realises something he should have known long ago - but is it too late to change things now?
1. Beautiful Conflict

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**These Secrets You Never Told**

**:III:**

Part One: Beautiful Conflict

_"These secrets you never told_

_penetrated my truth, my life_

_I never asked for this._

_You never told me, you. You_

_Didn't have to. Sometimes_

_Secrets can be read as clearly_

_As written words."_

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:III: _Dedicated to Dom's Lover—you never cease to amaze me, both with your continual support and your transcending writing talent. Cheers, Cricket!

* * *

_

:III: When _italised_, the pronoun _'her'_ (or, in any case, _'she' _as well) refers to Kel, but _only_ to differentiate between the 'her' that is Yuki and the _'her_' that is Kel. This fan fiction is written in the point-of-view of Yuki noh Daiomoru ('her' and 'she'), and the man ('he') referred to is Neal.

* * *

She is beginning to understand. It has come gradually, slowly, like the first light of sunrise sliding over the horizon like silk, but it is coming. 

She thinks often of their love. Once it seemed so strong, so unbreakable, but oh how quickly those fantasies died. Their love faded through the years, and they drifted apart until a sea of foreign feelings separated them. Before their marriage, the thought had never once occurred to her that this would happen. Everything about him was once so familiar to her. And now, she does not know _who_ he is. He keeps himself so carefully guarded, and nothing has been the same since their marriage.

She _wants_ to know him. She never wanted to fall out of love with him. Once, a simple smile or a laugh was enough from him to assure her of his love. But now, his affections are never granted to her. She almost pleads for them with fathomless dark eyes, but he never sees.

He has changed, as well. Once he adored her. He worshipped her mysterious eyes and the graceful fluttering of her fan. He wrote reams of lovestruck poetry and drank her in with his eyes. He would sit for hours with a letter from her, scented lightly with her perfume, and bring the paper close to his face and breathe in the fragrance.

He told her that she was different, that this love was different than his aimless moonings over the new court beauty. He told her that her loveliness was not the reason he married her. He used to be so offended when she suggested that this was so, and he would convince her otherwise and pledge his undying love for her. But not so long ago, when she timidly asked, he rubbed his temples and sighed and told her that he _had_ married her, hadn't he? And she swallowed her thoughts like vile poison and kept silent after that.

That used to please her. A simple assurance from him that true love, not swift passion, sustained their marriage. But now, she does not believe what he said. She can no longer accept that as the reason. And maybe she never did. Maybe her dream of a perfect marriage was always a fool's hope, and she was the fool who dared to trust in his vows of lasting love. Maybe she _made_ herself believe it, to banish her fears that it was not so. But now, she knows. There are no secrets.

She sees his gaze flicker over to _her_, then as the faint colour twinges his cheeks he looks away. She notices when he lingers to speak with _her_ because, as he defends himself, they're _friends_. She isn't blind. She realises what happens as his fingers drum idly on his desk, then move to gently brush against the porcelain cat that represents everything he clings to. She knows what the longing stare is as he reads and rereads _her_ letter, searching perhaps for a hidden meaning in the carefully-penned words.

He doesn't have to tell her. She knows.

She has known for years now. Grey streaks her hair, once completely black as midnight, and the lines around her eyes are more defined. She doesn't care. She knows she is still beautiful, after birthing three children for him. But he maybe doesn't know.

It hurts her deeply. As his love for her gradually diminished into a tiny spark of affection, her devotion to him has faded as well. She disguises it well, because it is a sharp knife in her heart—he has no need to disguise it, because it does not pain him as it pains her.

Did he ever love her for being her? She first began to notice the waning of their love a few months after the birth of their first child, a lovely little girl with her mother's exotic features and her father's emerald gaze. They named her Ariane. She was beautiful, with her soft skin and sweet curved dimples and the wonderment in her eyes that mirrored her parents' as she gazed at them.

She gave Ariane to him. She endured the harsh pains and the unfathomable agony of childbirth to produce a little girl who became like a goddess to him. SHE GAVE HIM THAT. Only to see him devote all his attention to this new seraph who claimed the affection once given to her. He gazed tenderly at the tiny perfection in his arms with the same love that was once in his eyes when he looked at her. He sat for hours with Ariane, rocking her and singing to her, with time that used to be spent with his wife. He loved what she gave him more than he loved her for giving it.

It has been so long. Once, his lies were enough to pacify her. Once, her beauty satisfied his justification. Now, nothing is ever enough. She is still beautiful, yet somehow, he loves imperfection better than porcelain skin and well-shaped curves.

He doesn't love his dark-eyed, exquisite Yamani anymore. He loves _her_ instead.

She hasn't yet accused him of it. And maybe she never will. It is a secret unspoken, yet so clear to her as if it were written on paper. He likely doesn't know that she has discovered this. He is perhaps the only one who doesn't realise that she sees what is happening.

She thinks, sometimes, that she should resent him for it. He married her. He asked her to wed him. He swore vows to her. Why should he break them? It is _her_ fault, or at least, that's what she _should_ think. But she doesn't. It is a mystery to her broken mind. She should hate the lady knight. She has thought of that often before. After all, why shouldn't she hate the other woman? It isn't her fault that he doesn't love her anymore. It isn't her fault that nothing is the same anymore. It isn't her fault that he loves _her_. But it isn't _her_ fault either.

She doesn't know if his love is in vain yet. After all, he has known _her _for so long. She should have suspected this all along. Or perhaps she did.

Perhaps, if she had the chance, she would've done everything differently. Perhaps, if she had known from the beginning, she would have been happier now, without him. But there hadn't been a way, had there? At the time, everything had felt so perfect, she hadn't give a thought that it might not stay that way.

Should _she_ really be blamed? Perhaps, perhaps not. In the rare storms of her anger, she places the blame on him. But never _her._ Just as much as she could not help falling in love with him, there is nothing he—or she—could have done to prevent this. Marriage, the thought of wedding him, once brought such joy and excitement. Now it is a cage. She wishes things could be as they once were, when she was young and happy and naïve, depending on his so-called 'love' to sustain their relationship. She wishes that this never could have happened, that she could have seen this years ago and changed their fates. She wishes that he would give up on trying to hide this from her, denying it when even she knows it has been so for years.

He never did really love her. She never loved him. Oh, the fantasies of youth, the dreams, the hopes, the illusions. Gone now. She doesn't care. Once, when she still thought she loved him, she saw the way he looked at _her_. As if _she_ was the only person that mattered. As if _she_ was everything he wanted. As if his own wife wasn't there at all. She did not sleep in his bed that night, and she wept bitter tears until soft sobs melted into fitful sleep. Dream-haunted sleep. Nothing was the same after that. Nothing changed, especially not the way he looked at _her_. Those looks that once broke her heart. But nevermore.

She can learn to reconcile to this. She admits it is partly her fault, not because she isn't _her, _but because she was naïve enough to believe that their marriage would work. She was wise enough not to expect a fairy-tale marriage, with perpetual happiness and true love and fifteen children and such. But she did hope that it would be happy. That she wouldn't grow to regret it. And now, she does.

The thought that she didn't deserve him never crossed her mind before. Perhaps once or twice in the night, lying in the perfect warmth of his arms, she doubted that she was good enough for him. But not in such a magnitude as it does now.

Perhaps she truly doesn't deserve him. But without a doubt, he deserves _her_. Perhaps it is time to let go of what was never there. Perhaps it is time to let _him_ go, to _her_. Since she cannot give him love, she can give him freedom.


	2. Storm of Souls

Part Two: Storm of Souls

:III: Male pronouns refer to Neal, female ones to Yuki. Simple enough. _Her_ and _she_, which I will use sparingly in this section of the story, denote Kel, though by using italics I am not trying to imply scorn for Kel or negativity of thought, simply distinguishing one female from the other. Part II written in the POV of our darling Neal. :III:

He has seen this look so often.

Her porcelain face smoothes, hiding the vast myriad of emotions that assail her mind. Glittering black eyes are empty as she draws a veil over her soul. He cannot see through it. He never has been able to.

He doesn't want to anymore.

She is not one to be irrational. The night is cold, windy, harsh—hard, like her voice, sharp as the edge on a sword and yet so calm and forthright. He wonders how she keeps such a firm grasp on composure. The words slip from her lips like silk, smoothly and effortlessly, a deep contrast from the words wrenched from his mouth. She is like a statue. She is stone. She is unreachable.

And that is partly the difficulty of this. She is so distant, so coldly indifferent. At least, that's what he thinks. It is impossible to discern anything beneath that impenetrable mask. He imagines the sifting emotions would resemble a billowing sea if he could find a way to strip her mask from her face.

Perhaps, he has thought in scorn more than once, she doesn't even feel anything. Perhaps she really is a statue—all cold, marble beauty and no heart.

He thought once that he could remove that mask. He thought that he could find a way to persuade her to discard it. She hadn't used it much anyway, not before; but after their marriage, she wore it more and more to hide herself. To hide insecurity? he wondered, but knew it was not so.

He admits it now. There is no way to find her beneath the mask.

Just as there is no way to love her anymore. He was certain that once he did. It _felt_ so different than what he'd felt toward all those other women. And if it really _was_ different, it all ended up the same anyway. What love he had once cherished for those dancing black eyes and gentle smile dwindled into—what? He didn't know.

It never had been true, real, tangible love, then.

_You called it love,_ he tells himself bitterly time after time in chastisement_. You lied to her. You made her think it was real._

But hadn't he thought that, too?

It wasn't love. It never really had been. That was what had gone wrong—he had wanted so much to believe it was love that soon, fantasy became false reality. Before marriage, before everything was taken a step forward, he had been relying on fleeting passion that soon deserted him like warmth in winter. And that's what happened, really. His warmth, his transient fire of passion, had died. And then there was nothing left but cold, unforgiving winter. If he had known this would happen _before_, he would have spared her—and himself—this. He would never have married her.

He knows he is being selfish—he hears it from his own accusing mind as much as he hears it from her lips. He is selfish because he regrets what he did, for _his _sake. He is sorry that she has suffered from this, but more than anything, he wishes he had never met her. Never looked at her. Never kissed her. And certainly, never married her.

Is it too late to change that?

"Neal," she says, but his name sounds different on her lips than it did years before. "Neal, please listen to me."_What, _he tries to say, but he cannot speak. The words escape his mouth silently and flit away before he can gather them again. Silent questions choke his voice. _What do you want why are you looking at me like that what's wrong?_ He is glad that some of them are not spoken._ Why won't this work why do I feel this way what have I done?_ He does not expect an answer.

"I…I didn't think it would ever be this way." She blinks and looks away, a single tear rolling down her cheek. "I'm sorry."

He tries to speak. "Yuki…I…I don't understand."

Her sharp gaze focuses on him, flashing black eyes piercing him worse than a hundred knives. "Yes, you do. Don't lie to me."

Stung, he retreats. "What do you mean?"

She sighs wearily, and he realises that she is no longer young, and neither is he. Is it too late to go back? He regrets so much, but has time made it impossible to change that?

Her eyes soften as she sees that same dark emerald gaze that had her swooning years before. "I'm sorry, Neal. I just…Don't think I can't see it."

His heart skips a beat. She knows? He remains silent, clinging to his composure with his last strength. He will not say anything. He wishes he had her mask to hide behind, wishes he has mastered her stone countenance. But he will never be able to conceal himself that easily. So he does not speak, fearing that words will give him away.

Certain enough, she continues. "I'm sorry, Neal. I'm sorry I can't be like her. I wish that I could be enough, that this would—would be enough—for you." Her voice catches; her mask slips and for a moment of eternity, he can see her. He can see what, who, where she is beneath. Her eyes are a sea of turmoil, of hurt, pain, confusion, denial, sorrow, resolution, acceptance. For one second, he can see her, truly see her. Before her mask slides over her features, and she visibly hardens into stone. Cold and unfeeling. She draws a deep breath and plows on. "But it obviously isn't. I think…I think that it was wrong, to…" Yuki hesitates, but in the end decides that he needs to hear this. "It was wrong to marry you."

She sees the fallen look on his face, pained eyes exposing torment and remorse but even worse, relief. He can already guess her words, predict them as if they were written in front of him. But he keeps his thoughts to himself and lets her speak. He knows she will.

"I was wrong to think that it would work," she says softly. "I…I think I somehow knew that it wouldn't. But I wanted it to. I shouldn't done it. It seemed so right, then. If I'd known…things would be different. This marriage was supposed to bind us together. Instead, it has imprisoned us."

Finally, he speaks. "It's my fault."

She shakes her head. "It's as much mine as it is yours." She is sorely tempted to add, And it's _her _fault as well. But she knows it is not true, and so she lets the words drift into the silent chasm of her mind. And then, resolute, "It isn't working. I don't want to live like this." He nods: he's known this for a long time. "Besides," Yuki adds hesitantly, "I know we aren't the same as we once were. I have no love to give you anymore." She pauses, half-expecting him to be despondent, sorrowful, but the look of suffering never comes; the determined set of his jaw is more real and tangible and frightening than anything else. She doesn't _want_ him to be all right; she wants him to grieve. As she has. As she _did_. "I cannot give you love," she repeats softly, her eyes hard and cold as stone. "But there remains one thing I can still give you."

His head shoots up as he meets her gaze cautiously. "What?"

She sighs again and moves to the window, gazing out on the swiftly falling rain. Her heart cries like the dark sky. Cries for lost love, for what was never there and what never will be. She wishes so dearly that everything could be as it once was, pure and innocent and naïve fool's love. Part of her is still jealous, although she knows she has to let him go. He is already _hers_, there is nothing Yuki can do to prevent it. He always has been _hers_. Does she really, truly regret that? She regrets this change. She regrets that she once was young and foolish enough to believe in his vows. She regrets that once, his waning love broke her heart, but now she knows there is nothing he could have done to prevent that. Perhaps it is truly time to let go.

"Freedom," she whispers as lightning shatters the storm, the storm of rain and thunder and the storm of their souls.


	3. All These Years

Part Three: All These Years

:III: IMPORTANT— In this segment, 'she' designates KEL and 'he' is Neal; to avoid confusion, I will refer to Yuki either by her name or by _'her'_.

She has waited.

Waited aimlessly, with a flicker of hope, intense and futile hope that will fade so quickly if she abandons it. That hope quickens with her heartbeat every time he glances over at her and smiles, for he is still handsome after all these years but there is more that she loves in him. Because after all these years nothing has changed between them. Sometimes she loves that. But more often, she hates it.

All these years she has loved him; she has been a coward to hide it. He has been a fool not to see it.

Now, more than ever, that flicker of hope shines brighter and stronger. She heard rumours—nothing more than that, just rumours, whispers in the shadows and catches of drifting gossip. She didn't know that they were true—but there comes a time when you don't care about truth and lies, you just embrace what little have and believe in that. And after waiting for all these years with carefully guarded jealousy and anger steeling her reserve, it was harder and harder to keep hope within her. Whenever she saw him, spoke with him, thought of him, it was like a burning misery, a resentful ache in her heart that made her long for him all the more.

She knew, or at least the sensible part of her did, that it was impossible. He was pledged to someone else, and you couldn't just abandon those vows. But there has always been a part of her waiting, longing, hoping desperately that something, just something might happen—that for once, fate would be kind to her. That was the less reasonable part of her that clung to hope and refused to give it up. She never had been very sensible in matters of love, she thought ruefully, and now more than ever it was proved. The ring on his finger should have convinced her by now.

She remembered that event with sickening clarity. She'd felt as thought she would burst into piece like shattered glass glittering on the floor, weeping and sobbing until the tears would not come. But it had been a beautiful wedding, oh yes—bolts of bright silk and such lovely decoration, and the ladies, they had been a sight with their flashing jewels and expensive dresses, dabbing their eyes with handkerchiefs as the ceremony progressed, accompanied by the dashing gentlemen who patted their companions comfortingly on the hand. She had been seated at the front, with her year-mates and Neal's other friends, willing herself not to cry. If she did, those who noticed it might have mistaken her tears for tears of happiness, and that would certainly convey the wrong perspective of the tall, strong lady-knight. It had taken every ounce of composure she possessed to keep her tears from spilling. But oh, how easy it would've been to have given in to that temptation—the rapture in Neal's twinkling eyes, the sheer joy evident in Yuki's beautiful alabaster face, the sparkling rings they exchanged, how everyone around her was beaming, happy, enjoying every moment of it, whilst she struggled to hold a tempest of emotions within her. It all seemed so surreal at the time—she had been tempted more than ever then to tell Neal that she loved him, that she had always loved him, and maybe, just maybe, it would be all right. But now she knew…it would never be all right.

She remembered speaking with him before the wedding, trying to calm his anxiety. He had been so nervous, fidgeting and twitching and peeking through the curtain every few seconds to see the people arriving. Each time he looked, he would announce to no one in particular which guest had arrived. Eventually, he began to follow the caterers around, asking every five minutes if everything was running smoothly. The usually patient caterers were irritated and requested that Kel keep him 'out of the way' until it was time for the wedding to begin. Kel obliged and with Merric's help managed to persuade Neal to stay out of everyone's way. She remembered thanking Merric profusely as he left to take his seat, and she remembered sitting with Neal only moments before the wedding began.

She remembered his tense silence at first, the look of tremendous concentration and concern on his face, and the fear she sensed in his rigid muscles and the crease of his forehead. She had never seen him like this before. _He must really feel something for Yuki_, Kel thought with a pang.

Suddenly, Neal straightened and drew a deep breath. He exhaled deeply, then turned his intense green eyes to Kel. "Kel?" he asked hesitantly.

She nodded. "What?"

He held her gaze, eyes solemn and unsmiling. "This…this doesn't change anything for us, does it? I mean, will this affect our friendship?"

He looked at that moment so like the little boy she imagined he once was—eyes wide, tone serious, voice grave and sober as the feelings that weighed on his heart. He, who could be so world-wise and sophisticated, seemed so naïve and young. Suddenly she was overwhelmed by the need to hold him, rock him back and forth to ease his worries as one might sooth a troubled child, and she wanted more than anything to kiss him until he forgot about anything and everything else. She wanted him to kiss her like she had always wanted to kiss him.

She lost herself in his eyes, a battle raging within her as she tried desperately to decide whether or not to tell him.

Yes, Neal, things will change—I want you to say no to her_ I want you to forget about _her _I want you to forget about everyone else I want you to love me. Those are the changes I want. I want you_.

herher . 

She swallowed hard and stared deeper into his eyes. She saw there an affection, born out of admiration for long ebony hair and the sparkle in black eyes, developed by an awe of the grace of movement and sweet temper, and she saw that he thought it was love. An immense sorrow weighed on her heart, and she could hardly speak, for so was her fear that she would erupt into sobs and very womanly tears.

You can't do this, she insisted to herself. _You can't ruin it like this for him. Look at him—you see how much he wants this? Don't let it come to this—you've borne wounds and heartache before, you can do it again. Just pretend. Believe it long enough that maybe someday it will come true. _That was an empty hope and she knew it. But she had to do this, for his sake. For hers.

she insisted to herself. That was an empty hope and she knew it. But she had to do this, for his sake. For hers. 

"No, Neal," she said at last when she found her voice and her courage. A mask slipped over her features, only this time it was not blank to conceal all of her emotions—instead it hid her sorrow, her agony, her pain, grief, regret, longing, overwhelming anguish that made everything inside of her cry out. It was a mask of happiness, feigned joy, and she hoped that he would not be able to see through it so easily as he has seen through the blank mask before. "Nothing will change, trust me."

She has always pretended before. When she was a child in the Yamani Isles, she pretended she was a Yamani warrior, perhaps even her mother, saving ancient relics from destruction and thus gaining the respect of thousands of people. When she was older, she dreamed of being a knight, and those hopes haunted her thoughts. She has pretended so many times, but never like this. She always pretended to be someone she really wanted to be. But there was nothing harder than pretending to be glad for him when really, her whole soul clenched in sorrow as he smiled at her, animated, and took her hand.

"Thanks, Kel," he said affectionately, his smile wide and heartfelt. "I just…I don't want me and Yuki to, to somehow…change…things." Kel nodded encouragingly. "I want everything to stay the same way it is now."

Kel's heart sank the moment he said that, as if the last hopes she had clung to like an anchor had finally been extinguished. There was no remaining faith in what could happen. She had been relying on this hope for so long, now that it was gone, she hardly knew what to do. She smiled reassuringly at Neal and squeezed his hand. "Don't worry," she said, keeping up a cheerful façade lest he see the darkness of her true feelings. "Everything will be the same."

He smiled back at her and rose. A young boy peeked his head through the curtain and informed them that it was time to start. Neal's face grew pale, but he drew a deep breath, winked at Kel, and followed the boy outside.

Oh, how she remembered.

She remembered that fateful day that had forever affected her life and his.

He left her heartbroken with nothing but a wavering friendship and a promise of eternity that, she thought, probably wouldn't even last the week through.

Perhaps everything would have been different if she'd told him then. Perhaps he would have felt the same. Perhaps he would have told Yuki that he couldn't marry her, that his heart belonged to another. At least, that's what always happened in the fairy tales. But Kel had to confront reality: this wasn't a fairy tale. There was no happy ending. Not for her and Neal.

But everything changed one day.

:III:

She is walking along the orchard at the royal palace. She shivers—although it is only autumn and the leaves are tinged with red and gold, the night air is cool and fresh. A gentle breeze slips past her, briefly lifting stray strands of light brown hair and brushing them across her face.

The moon is full, bright, serene—its soft light spills down from the sky to illuminate Kel's path with a meagre glow, and casts an ethereal gleam across her surroundings. She tilts her face to the stars and draws a deep breath, feeling as though she is being cleansed. Recently, she has taken to these long walks at twilight among the rust-tinged trees; she loves autumn and besides, it is so lonely and beautiful at night. She remembers once when she came here with him…it seems so long ago…

It was a few months after his marriage to Yuki. Those few months had been almost torture for Kel, and she had thankfully had her duties in service to the realm to her occupy her and to keep her thoughts from being focused on Neal. Neal…the one she had lost. She had lost him without even ever having him to begin with. Perhaps that is what made it so painful.

Neal was walking along with her, admiring the lovely shades of the leaves on the trees, then he turned to her abruptly and said, "Kel, what would you say if I told you that I was about to become a completely new person?"

She was puzzled at first. "How so?"

Neal's cheeks were glowing even in the pale moonlight. "Completely new, Kel. Not Sir Neal the knight; not the healer Neal; not Neal, Yuki's husband; not even the ladies' favourite—Neal, Dom's cousin." He grinned. "No, my dearest Keladry. In a few months' time, I will be…" He paused dramatically. "Neal, the father."

It took several moments for this to sink in. Kel stared at him in shock, trying to subdue the wild pounding of his heart. You should have expected this, she chided herself. They're married, after all.

But she had still cherished the hope that maybe—just maybe—he didn't really love Yuki. That maybe, one day, he would realise it and come back to Kel. That maybe, Yuki wouldn't matter to him anymore. It was a horrible wish to have, Kel thought miserably, but she wanted it more than anything. But his announcement that Yuki was with child had shattered that hope. Kel felt her chest grow tight as she tried to withhold her emotions. She put on a light-hearted façade to disguise her sadness. Again, someone I don't want to be, she thought.

"Oh, dear," she mused aloud with a twinkle in her eye. "Poor Yuki."

Neal grinned and cuffed the side of her head. "I'll have you know that I plan to be most attentive to this child and to my wife." He didn't notice as Kel's downcast eyes for a moment before she looked up at him again.

"I know, silly," she grinned and hugged him. "That's wonderful."

"I know." He sighed contentedly and ruffled her hair. "I'm sure you'll have a great part in the little one's upbringing, of course. Yuki will insist."

"Lovely," Kel put in. She wondered that Neal could not sense her discomfort when it seemed so obvious to her.

Certain enough, he picked up on it. Concern shadowed his eyes. "Kel, are you all right?" Neal asked. "You look…Is anything wrong?"

Kel managed a smile. "No, Neal. I'm fine." She stifled a sigh. "Things are really going to change now, that's all."

"I know," he said absently, not guessing at her real intent. "I know."

A lump settles in her throat at the painful memory. Ariane, a beautiful little girl with Yuki's alabaster beauty and Neal's direct emerald gaze, is now an impish seven-year-old who is already begging her parents to let her be a knight. Yuki feigns distress, countered by her twinkling eyes, and blames Kel's influence on Ariane. Kel always just smiles up at Neal as Ariane hurls herself into his arms and chatters happily about swords and the Ordeal, then laughs as the little girl tugs on her arm and tells Kel that she's going to be 'a lady knight, just like you and the Lioness'. That child, with her sisters as well, serves to remind Kel that Neal is not hers, nor will be ever be hers. It feels like a needle pricking her heart every time she realises that. But somehow, she can never bring herself to truly believe it.

She closes her eyes, imagining Neal's unwavering gaze and his arms folded across his chest as he tries to 'knock some sense through her thick, Yamani-influenced skull'. Or how amazingly soft and tender his eyes are as he plays with his children, three beautiful little girls who adore their father so dearly. Kel cannot help but love Neal's daughters, although they represent everything that Kel tries to deny, they are sweet-tempered girls (if slightly spoiled at times) and are so devoted to the lady knight that even a calm façade of stone is useless as defense against them.

Oh, Neal.

The throbbing ache in her heart has not gone away, nor has it lessened—if anything, it is strengthened by the rumours that drift by her door each evening and penetrate her unlistening ears. Even Cleon has brought it up once, whilst he and Kel were talking. He noticed Kel's dark gaze and immediately regretted the words that had just left his mouth. Cleon had apologised profusely after a brief scolding from Kel about spreading gossip about his friend, and learned not to speak of it again. As much as she discourages such rumours, Kel cannot not help but feel a sort of cruel relief in each of them. She tries not to; she tries to be sad for his sake, but nothing works. A part of her heart, a part she thought long abandoned, took new hope in such gossip and wished it were true. Then, for once, she could truly love Neal. She could love him as she has always wanted to. No conditions, limitations, stipulations. Just pure, unadulterated love.

She imagines his piercing eyes, his all-too-familiar smile, his husky tones, and wishes with all her heart for one moment, _Neal Neal Neal._

:III:

She never expected that her dream would come true.

Perhaps it is the dusky twilight. Perhaps it is the cool night air. Perhaps it is the mysterious light of the moon, deceiving and seductive, that misleads her. Perhaps she really is dreaming. But whatever it is, she knows it is Neal.

The thought doesn't once cross her mind that why would he be here, at well past midnight, when he should be at fief Queenscove spending time with Yuki and their daughters? The thought doesn't cross her mind that he _shouldn't_ be here, because the look in his eyes tells her of his intent. She is dazed, half wanting to believe her guess that something isn't right, and half afraid of what might happen if it isn't true.

Truth. She looked for it everywhere…

And now she has found it. She has found it glimmering in the emerald depths of his eyes. She has found it at last, in the tear that trickles down his cheek and leaves a glistening path down his flushed skin. Could it be the flickering starlight, or are his eyes brighter than usual? She stares into them, feeling her breath come harder and faster and her heart thudding forcefully against her chest, and suddenly the truth is all right there within her reach.

He says nothing, only looks at her. His eyes say everything, speaking in silent tones more powerful than words. They are such a penetrating emerald shade, deep and fathomless as the sea. Like the abyss of his soul. Endless. Timeless. She realises what has happened, pieces it together, understands it so completely as if he has told her the entire story.

Time suspends them, and silence weighs down upon their still forms. Kel holds his gaze, her body rigid and tense. Each breath seems a torture, each beat of her heart is loud and ominous, each blink of her eye drawn-out and burdensome. Time passes slowly, tormenting and long and lingering. She yearns for him to say something, to shatter the terrible quiet. She _needs_ to hear his voice again. Finally, he speaks.

"Kel."

The word reverberates in the heavy silence. Echoes seem to ripple in her soul—she closes her eyes against the power of this new feeling. Or is it new? Perhaps it has been there all along.

"I…I'm sorry," Neal whispers, his voice rough and coarse with emotion that he can no longer restrain within him. He is unleashed, and she welcomes it fully. Her eyes open slowly, willingly, and meet his gaze.

He closes the distance, brings them together and they fit in each other's arms so perfectly, as if they were made for it. As if their bodies were sculpted, formed to fit that way. As if this is what they were meant for all these years. She closes her eyes again, drowning in his passion, shocked and thrilled with his mouth against hers. Every sense is suspended, every foreboding feeling vanishes, every centimetre of her skin is on fire with his touch. She releases her worry, her anxiety, casts away her disquiet for his embrace. Nothing matters anymore. There is Neal, only Neal, and there has always only been Neal, and it has taken her this long to realise it.

She has been waiting for this kiss since she was eleven years old, and it is sweeter, lovelier, more tender, more loving, more profound than she dreamed it would be. Her dreams and hopes are fulfilled tonight, and she releases them for she no longer needs them, and they float to the sky like stars languishing in the radiance of the moon. She no longer needs the light of these stars—the light in his eyes is enough for centuries on end, until all stars fade and the sky melts away, this is all that she needs.

He said _I'm sorry_, and he has never meant it more than as he said it tonight. _I'm sorry that I never realised it I'm sorry that I hurt you like that I'm sorry that I was too afraid to tell you I'm sorry you've suffered all this while, I've been suffering too I'm sorry for everything, I just want you to be so happy that you won't need anyone or anything else besides this, besides _me She forgives him, and she has never felt it more than as she feels it tonight.

Their kiss is a vow, it is a curse, it is a blessing bestowed, it is hardships and troubles banished, it is renewed love and affection, it is anything and everything and something that will always be there. It is a dream, a hope, a wish for the future. It is eternity, now and forever, two parts of one, and it is all that Kel has ever wanted. It is him.

:III:

A/N: Thanks everyone. I was surprised at how many people's reactions were sympathy for Yuki and such. I am glad, though, since so many Kel/Neal ships either ignore Yuki (she didn't exist, or she and Neal's relationship just kind of vaguely ends or something) or do something really illogical with her (she dies, or cheats on Neal or something ridiculous like that), and I hoped that this portrayal would make sense. I'm glad if it did. Anyway, if you need me to set anything straight, please _tell me. This is the first thing I've written that is this risky—as I wrote this I became aware of risks I was taking, and I hope I've avoided all of them, and if I haven't I hope you will let me know. There will be one more chapter, an Epilogue, which you can look forward to soon._

please 


	4. Epilogue

Epilogue

"Kel."

"Neal?"

"Kel."

"Yes, Neal?"

"Kel."

"What is it?"

"Say it again."

"Say what?"

"Say my name."

"Oh…Neal. All right. Neal."

"Mmm. I love how you say it. I love you."

"I know. I love you, too…Neal."

xxxxxx

"There's nowhere I'd rather be right now, Kel."

"Hmm, really? I could think of dozens of places."

"Oh? I'm _sure_."

"No, really."

"Mm hmm. Like where?"

"Well…the bath. The Isles. My parents' fief. Outside, where it's snowing. In bed."

"With me?"

"No, with Wyldon. Of course YOU, silly. Who'd you think?"

"You wound me, you horrible tease. Isn't being in my arms good enough?"

"Hmm, now that you mention it…"

"You really are terrible."

"Yes. I know."

"Yes."

"And you love me."

"Yes."

xxxxxx

"Kel?"

"What."

"It's snowing."

"Yes, Neal. Thank you for telling me. I've been wondering what those little white flakes outside are. You're a really enlightening experience, you know."

"Yes, I know. But that's not my point. It's snowing."

"_Is_ there a point to this?"

"Do you want to go outside?"

"But I'm warm right here."

"It's all right, Kel. I'll keep you warm outside."

"How?"

"Like this."

xxxxxx

"Mmm. Ohh. I like that."

"I thought you would, Kel. Now, would you like to go outside?"

"Hmm…all right."

xxxxxx

"It's beautiful."

"Yes, I just _love_ being out in the freezing cold air surrounded by even colder wetness that gets _everywhere._"

"Oh come on, Meathead, you're the one who wanted to come out here!"

"Kel, PLEASE! I told you not to call me that."

"Whyever not?"

"It's embarrassing. Besides, it gives people the wrong impression. Once when you called me Meathead in public, a woman thought you were harrassing me."

"Oh. My."

"It's not funny! I want people to see us as…as us."

"How insightful."

"You know what I mean. I want people to see us as being in love."

"Because that's what we are, aren't we?"

"Yes. In love."

xxxxxx

"Neal…"

"Hmm?"

"I think I'm getting cold."

"Oh, dear. We'll have to remedy that, won't we?"

__

The End

:III: This tale has come to an end. Not a complete end, though, perhaps. If any of you would like to see this continued in a sequel, please send me your thoughts, suggestions, criticism, any kind of feedback (email if you'd like: whiteshadow48 at hotmail-dot-com). _If_ a sequel is undertaken, it will likely be about Kel and Neal resolving the difficulties of their relationship, and possibly even Ariane dealing with her parents'…changes. Assuming that Yuki and Neal had married within a year of the end of Lady Knight, I suppose this fic is set about eight or nine years after their marriage. Thus, Neal is approximately in his early thirties, and Kel is late twenties or so. The sequel shouldn't be set very long after the end of this. The sequel will, of course, be as short as this one, but I promise it will be worth the read.

:III: I would like to thank each and every one of you who has reviewed me—you all are the best. Thank you for your support. I love you all! Especial thanks go to _Dom's Lover_ for inspiration and eating chocolate with me; _the eternity_ for continual help, support, and invaluable input; and_ CrystalLili _for wonderful corrections and suggestions. Cheers to you all!

:III: On a final note, I beg all of you readers to drop me a review. Like I said, review! I feel horrible because I'm pretty much and and over with fanfiction… but still email me, who knows what could happen.


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